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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30075153">The Broken Teeth of a Tortoiseshell Comb Has To Be a Metaphor For Something</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chiburui/pseuds/PowerBottomJoker'>PowerBottomJoker (Chiburui)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Am I OK? (no), Background Angst, Bottom Joker (DCU), Bruce Wayne: Clownfucker, But Like... Erotically, Come Sharing, Creampie, Established Relationship, Frottage, Hair Brushing, Hair-pulling, Joker (DCU) Being Joker (DCU), M/M, Me? Writing something close to fluff?, Other: See Story Notes, POV Second Person, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Protective Bruce Wayne, Rough Sex, Trans Joker (DCU), Trans Male Character, Trans PIV, he just can't help it</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 19:21:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,473</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30075153</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chiburui/pseuds/PowerBottomJoker</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Joker's hair is getting long. Bruce offers to brush it. Joker, as usual, makes things difficult.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Joker (DCU)/Bruce Wayne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>77</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Broken Teeth of a Tortoiseshell Comb Has To Be a Metaphor For Something</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello Everyone! </p><p>Massive apologies for this not being the second chapter of ADB, it's been a long time since I've been able to write and I needed something to get me back into the swing of things, and, well, *this* is what happened.</p><p>This story contains transmasc Joker, however, every trans person's experiences are unique to ourselves and some things I find kinky or acceptable might cause another distress, so a few forewarnings before you stumble into my self-indulgent trash-heap (skip if you want as few spoilers as possible):</p><p>- No mention is explicitly made within the story of Joker being trans, or how it affects his place in the world. This is an established relationship semi-fluff PWP without all the sticky coming out stuff. Joker is Joker, he just happens to be trans. And horny.</p><p>- A couple of references are made to J's genitals in feminine or neutral terms (including an instance of ~the C-Word~ and Clit), as that is what I personally prefer. If that will cause you distress, perhaps skip this one.</p><p>- Additionally, this fic includes PIV sex, and unprotected, at that. I HC Joker as completely sterile in any iteration where he's been acid-washed, and that applies here. However, if you find trans PIV to be too distressing, please skip this.</p><p>Thank you, and for those still here, please enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Your hair is getting long." </p><p>"Mmm?"</p><p>Joker hums as he slowly kisses his way up the scars of your torso, leaving ever-more fading smears of lipstick in his wake. Legs tangled, Joker at your side, you run your fingers through the silken green strands blanketing your chest, giving it a sharp tug and a grunt when he bites down sharply on your nipple. </p><p>He laughs, growling softly when you won't let go to let him do it again. He sticks his tongue out in a futile attempt to breach the distance, before giving up when you refuse him, blowing a raspberry at you instead.</p><p>"All the more for you to pull, apparently," he chuckles, before sitting up sharply, neck crooking awkwardly as you try to detangle your hand from his hair. He completely ignores the discomfort, too excited by whatever flash of inspiration he's just had. "Want to braid it for me, bats? You've got to be, what, at least a 5th-degree black belt in French braiding, right?"</p><p>"I don't think there are degrees in–" you start, but then cut yourself off, taking in his wolfish expression. </p><p><em> Ah, </em>he's doing that thing again. Wrapping his desire for intimacy with you in safe layers of mockery and jokes, so if you turn him down he can pretend he was just being funny. </p><p>He looks hopeful. You're feeling indulgent.</p><p>"Do you have a comb?" you ask. You don't really know if you can braid it for him, but something tells you he wouldn't care a lick. </p><p>He gets up from the bed — really more of a disparate collection of ancient mattresses in a vaguely bed-shaped stack — and pads over to an equally ancient vanity, its mirror spiderwebbed with cracks radiating out from a fist-shaped hole. The vanity itself is covered in childish, angry-looking scrawlings, incoherent and almost illegible as the words and ideas overlap and run into each other, just a tiny peek into what goes on in his mind. </p><p>You haven't tried to read any of it. Something about it feels <em> raw</em> and wounded, in a way you don't quite feel ready to confront — not yet. </p><p>Whatever you have right now is tentative. Him bringing you here, to a room so secret and hidden you'd never mapped it out as Batman, feels almost like a test— one that you're desperate to pass if you're going to make any progress with him.</p><p>The sharp sound of the drawer closing draws your attention. He's got an old tortoiseshell comb in one hand. The other is twitching, unable to contain his excitement. </p><p>He climbs back onto the bed and holds it out to you, snatching it away once as you try to grab it, and smiling giddily when you yank it out of his hand, rolling your eyes.</p><p>"Sit up, will you, Batsy?" he taps your foot, and you comply. "Legs out." </p><p>You straighten your legs, and he crawls over to you. His naked white skin gleams, pink- and orange-tinged in the early evening light. The light and shadows dance over his many scars and burns in new ways with every movement of muscle and bone under his skin as he approaches. </p><p>He crawls slowly up your body, a feral, toothy grin plastered on his face. You'd roll your eyes again — He's not the most elegant creature in the world — but you're just as thrilled as he is, the rapid southbound blood flow telegraphing it just as much as Joker's jerky, animated movements. When he reaches your cock he dips down to lick a wet stripe up it, from balls to head, and — <em> God </em> — you want to toss the comb and just shove yourself into that wicked wet throat until you're <em> both </em> gasping for air.</p><p>But before you can do that, Joker's already sliding his way up your chest, his small frame slotting perfectly into the space between your arms, and coming to rest on your lap. His long nose is touching yours, and his smile is devious. Trapped between the both of you, your cock twitches when he follows the length of it with his nails. Delicate, but <em> just </em> enough to warn you of their sharpness.</p><p>"Think you can finish it without getting distracted?" he says, though the effect of his challenge is somewhat diminished as you slip your hand around him and between his thighs. Just a light touch from you and his breath hitches, he ruts forward, and you feel how wet he is already, dripping slowly down your cock. </p><p>You laugh, a genuine smile lighting your face as you stare into his blazing, acid green eyes. "That depends on what you do, doesn't it?" You ask.</p><p>His grin grows wider, and he turns around in your lap, coming to rest with his long, skinny thighs on either side of yours. The difference in mass between his spindly, spidery legs and yours, <em> all </em> of him and yourself, is always somewhat astonishing, and you wonder how you've never just snapped him in half by pure accident during any one of your more violent encounters– whether as enemies or lovers. He may not be able to best you in physical combat, but you've always been incredibly impressed by the lengths he'd go to try. </p><p>You'd never tell him, though, lest he begin trying again. Right now, you much prefer the lengths he'd go to get you off.</p><p>Any more musing is cut short when he slides back and catches your throbbing cock between the wet lips of his cunt. You both gasp as he slides forward to the very tip, and then back to the root, slowly undulating, stomach going taut and soft and back again, drenching you both. </p><p><em> Oh, this </em> <b> <em>will</em> </b> <em> be distracting, </em> you think, grinning into Joker's back. </p><p>Taking the comb in one hand, you rest the other around Joker's waist, needing to feel as much of his movement as possible, and you begin combing. </p><p>Starting at the tangled ends, you take your time working your way up. Every time you catch on a knot and pull, Joker gives a little hum of approval, and you both fall into a comfortable rhythm of combing and humming and sliding together.</p><p>When you get to a particularly stubborn knot and pull it hard, Joker gasps and jerks forward, and your cock slips out of his folds, dripping gooey strands onto your thighs. When he relaxes, he lets out a little huff of amusement. Then he backs up, searching for you again and making you groan when he angles perfectly to allow you to slip slowly inside of him, this time. Your size stretches the delicate, purplish skin until he exclaims a pained little "ah!", and the sound makes you jerk up into him, filling him completely and causing him to throw his head back, a loud "OH!" followed by slow, deep, shuddering breaths. His nails dig grooves into your thighs. You can feel his hands shaking.</p><p>You wince. He's so, <em> so </em> tight around you and every time you feel like you must be hurting him. Even if he says that's <em> exactly </em> what he wants, sometimes you still catch the far-away looks and ragged breathing and the unnatural stillness from him. At this point, though, you worry that asking will only annoy him. </p><p>"I didn't say to stop," he whispers, knowing you're already overthinking it, and you get back to combing, as he begins rocking on the cock spearing him open. You notice he doesn't go as deep himself as you just had, though.</p><p>You worry that he only does this for you, <em> because </em> it's you, but all you can do is trust him when he says if he didn't want you to do something he'd make it <em> very </em> clear. You have the feeling it involves a sharp knife and some soft part of you that you'd prefer to keep un-stabbed, so you just try to keep quiet and focus on his reactions rather than his words, and enjoy yourself.</p><p>And, despite it all, you <em> are </em> enjoying yourself, so you decide to just let him set the pace tonight. </p><p>As you comb, he alternates between riding you, and letting you slip out and sliding along your length, keeping you rock hard but unable to come, edging you mercilessly. Your balls are getting painfully tight by the time you reach his scalp, but when you do he suddenly becomes much more squirmy, the sensations on his skin beginning to overwhelm him.</p><p>After just a minute or two of combing Joker's scalp, he starts letting out little moans and whines, obviously struggling to keep up his pace as his hips start to jerk involuntarily. You keep going until he suddenly grabs your wrist in a death-grip, whole body going taut before he begins slightly convulsing, letting out little noises of pleasure. You can feel him throbbing as he slides along your cock, skinny thighs squeezing yours, sweat gleaming on his back.</p><p><em> God, he looks so good like this, </em>you think, still a little stunned and awestruck that he allows you to see him this way. Then again, how long had you resisted his invitations to do just that? </p><p>When he finally relaxes, he leans forward, elbows on your legs, and you can still see the contractions of those rings of muscle, aftershocks of his orgasm. He looks back at you and grins.</p><p>"Maybe I don't need it braided after all!" he laughs — a little breathless — sounding pleased with himself. He slaps his ass cheek a couple of times, giggling, "I think it's time for your reward for being so patient, isn't it, darling?"</p><p>You don't need to be told twice. You toss the comb to the side, grabbing him around the middle and shoving him into the bed while he laughs, full of joy, rather than malice. You enter him roughly, his high-pitched laughter tapering off into breathless cries and moans of ecstasy mixed with pain as you fuck him mercilessly, arms held fast behind him. Bending over, you wrap your arm around his bony chest, hand tight at his throat. You pull him up to crush him to your body, trapping him as close to you as possible, strangling him from behind as you thrust up into him.</p><p>Exactly how he likes it. </p><p>When you can feel your own orgasm building, and just as he starts to go limp, you throw him forward onto the mattress. He's coughing and trying to suck air into his burning lungs, but you're already fisting your hand in his hair and pulling him up, spine bowing nearly backwards as you slam into that delirium-inducing heat.</p><p>He comes again when you shove a spit-slicked thumb in his ass, screaming his passion with no regard for whether anyone overhears or not.</p><p>You come with a shout, nearly collapsing on top of him with the force of it after being edged so harshly, and you force one final, slow orgasm out of Joker as you ride out the aftershocks of your own, both of you panting and bent over on the bed, your fingers sliding through the swollen folds and tapping a beat onto his sensitive clit. </p><p>He doesn't scream this time, just makes a quiet, broken noise and collapses on the bed, his whole body shuddering. This time, you follow, covering his sweat-slicked body with your own.</p><p>You both lay there for a while, exhausted, your flagging erection still inside of him. The cold giving Joker goosebumps wherever you're not touching him. </p><p>After a while, just before you find yourself drifting off to sleep, he giggles.</p><p>"Mmm?" you ask, knowing you'll need to find out anyway. He has a penchant for crass jokes after sex <em> or </em> suddenly remembering about a bomb he'd 'forgotten' about, and you never knew which until he'd tell you.</p><p>"I think you need to comb my hair again, darling," he chuckles. You smile; you'd left him looking absolutely ravaged and his hair had fared no better. So much for braiding it.</p><p>"So I do," you mumble into his shoulder blades, kissing lightly up each vertebrae of his prominent spine. "Anything else you need me to do?"</p><p>You feel him start laughing under your body, fighting to get himself under control long enough to talk. </p><p>"I think I need you to eat me out, Bats. I'm cream-filled with a salty surprise!" He cackles, and when he sees the look on your face he only laughs harder. </p><p>You sigh, sitting up and letting him turn over. "At least it's not a bomb, this time."</p><p>"Oh, I think you've exploded enough for the both of us today, darling" he giggles, throwing his legs over your shoulders eagerly as you pull him to the end of the bed, getting on your knees. You don't particularly want to taste yourself, but he seems to love his moments of feeling in charge, so you'll do it. He wiggles his toes excitedly as you bend down, fisting his long fingers into your hair and tugging experimentally, savouring every second of control over you.</p><p>You take a long lick from ass to clit and he moans, breath speeding up, watching you with those piercing, half-closed eyes, a lopsided smile on his face. He gets more excited as you lick and fondle around his labia, exploring him with your tongue. His thick clit stands proudly at attention, the forest green nest above it tickling your nose as you carefully circle and suck his overstimulated erection. He's trying so hard to keep your come inside of him, but your teasing is making him struggle.</p><p>When you slowly stick your tongue inside his hole he groans softly, releasing a torrent of your own sticky semen that coats your tongue, now tinged with his own unique flavour. It's not as bad as you'd thought, you might even—</p><p>"Oh, wait, there is this one thing–" he says, sounding serious. Before you can bring your head up to question him, though, he clamps his thighs around your ears and tightens his grip on your hair, humping up into your face and leaving you covered in a wet mess of your come and his own slickness.</p><p>He releases you and you pull back, gasping and angry that he could just <em> forget </em> about whatever horrible scheme he'd cooked up and not told you—</p><p>— But he's laughing again. </p><p>"I've got this chemical spill that I've just <em> gotta </em> clean up, Batsy, who <em> knows </em> who might slip on it?" he snickers, looking at you with amusement and affection, and pulls you by the hair towards him, meeting you in a deep kiss, savouring the flavours of the both of you as they combine into something new and wholly <em> yours. </em></p><p>When he pulls away, he's smiling brightly, covered in just as much glistening mess as you, and you can't help but laugh with him.</p><p>Gotham is mercifully quiet that night.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If you want more Joker and Batjokes, all day every day, you can find me (and my Batjokes art) on Twitter @PowrBottomJoker!</p><p>If you liked it, comments are appreciated and loved&lt;3  </p><p>If you're gonna be That Guy and tell me my take on a character with 80 years of wildly varying canons and AU interpretations is somehow OOC, keep it to yourself, weirdo! &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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